Fallout: Conquest
by Ramaeesh
Summary: Decades after the emergence of the Vault Dweller, the Commonwealth is embroiled in bitter war. To the south, a holy Inquisition of the Children of Atom, incited by a boy claiming to be the Avatar of Atom, rages while in the North, the Brotherhood and Outcasts fight a bloody civil war. With the arrival of a new Communist sect, who will dominate? SYOC STILL OPEN
1. Intro Part I

The boy was beautiful, with distant eyes, dark hair, and rosy cheeks. A curious vessel for most holy Atom, or so Sister Mary thought. She had been traveling with the Inquisitor's war-host for a few weeks, since they had passed through Somerville, and though he didn't seem like much, the boy Avatar radiated the essence of the living God.

No more did it show than now, sitting on a hill overlooking the Commonwealth, as the Avatar of Atom sat crosslegged, eyes closed in meditation. Now Sister Mary had never been too devote, but she had seen enough in this lifetime to believe in something else, a divine hand or fate or whatever you wanted to call it. Since meeting the boy, however, Mary had given serious thought to the legitimacy of Atom.

"What's our next move?" Called a gruff voice belonging to a gruff man. The Inquisitor. "Has Atom revealed His will to you, Avatar?"

The Inquisitor was a forward man, and while he was a zealot for the cause, he lacked the tact and ceremony characteristic of many of the Children.

The boy Avatar slowly opened his pale green eyes, as if coming out of a trance, which Sister Mary supposed he may have been in after all.

"We are to camp in this place for the night," the boy said, his voice the lightness of a bird's chirp and the gravity of a roaring storm. "This place has good stock of food and drink, and the Children need rest for the trying days ahead. Many will fall," he added, almost as an afterthought.

It always came back to war, Sister Mary thought, though this was one cause she was willing to fight for.

Ever since the boy Avatar had arrived in the Crater of Atom weeks before, the Children of the Commonwealth had been ignited with holy passion. It was the boy who had started all the talk of Inquisition, if not indirectly, and the Children had been keen to follow Atom's will.

And now they were prepared for war.

Of course, the Children would prefer if those denizens of the Commonwealth would see the light on more peaceful terms, but the Inquisitor had insisted that they be prepared for resistance. And so now, gathered under a common cause, the Children of Atom marched to war, a great host united under the banner of their God, headed by His own living Avatar.

And looking into the boy's bright green eyes, older and wiser than eternity and as youthful as a child's, Sister Mary had one thought.

We cannot fail.

War is bitter. It favors no man, spares no woman, saves no child.

It is time for the people of the Commonwealth to choose a side. Across the land, factions will vie for domination, or for liberation. From the West come the Holy Inquisition of the Children of Atom. Led by a child known as the Avatar of Atom, the Children seek to spread their holy faith to the Commonwealth. From the East come the Outcasts, exiles from the paramilitary forces of the Brotherhood of Steel. A small and strong force, the Outcasts seek to liberate the Commonwealth's synths and ghouls from the tyranny of the Brotherhood. Locked in brutal combat with their former comrades, the Brotherhood of Steel, stationed from the Prydwn, seek to cleanse the world of those effected by the taint of radiation. Finally, to the North come the legions of the Communist Party of the Commonwealth. A governmental force stationed within the ruins of Vault 88, and inspired by the Red Chinese and Soviets of the pre-war world, the Communists seek to unite the Commonwealth into a utopian society. Only one faction may rule. Only may survive. This is war, and war never changes.

 **XxXxX**

 **Welcome to a new story inspired by Fallout 4! Taking place decades after the Vault Dweller's story, this plot will chronicle the struggles of several factions of the Commonwealth: The Inquisition of the Church of the Children of Atom, the Communist Commonwealth Party, the Brotherhood of Steel, and the Outcasts, a rebel group from the BoS. This story will be populated by characters you submit, and I would love to have two or three diverse characters for each faction! Form will be on my profile!**


	2. Author's Note

Hello readers! So it doesnt seem that this story is generating the interest I was hoping, so Im going to give it a few more days before I close this one out. Below I will list the open slots for each faction and I'm really hoping to create an awesome adventure! As a reminder, this story will chronicle the adventures of individuals caught in conflict, through the lens of several warring factions. The submission form is on my profile!

Inquisition of the Children of Atom:

1.

2.

Communist Commonwealth Party:

1.

2.

Outcasts:

1\. Hugh Walker

2\. Antonio "Toni" Lee

Brotherhood of Steel:

1.

2.

Neutral Settlers:

1\. Timothy Plant

2\. Elizabeth Lowell


	3. Intro Part II

Taffington was on fire.

Nadia could feel the warmth of the flames of the burning town even from where she lay, prone in a shallow ditch, hiding from the battle raging overhead.

Every so often, a flash of sickly green glow or a harsh red laser would zip past Nadia's refuge, casting the world in an ethereal glow.

Nadia's mom had warned her that the Brotherhood of Steel had been spotted near their hometown. With the Children of Atom already occupying the town, Nadia's father knew of the battle to come, but the family had had no time to escape before the first shots were fired.

And now Nadia was here, stuck in a hole, and the young girl had no clue where her brother or parents were. Her breaths came out ragged, a tight knot of fear twisting in her gut. Small hands hugged tiny shoulders, and tears streamed freely down her cheeks, but at least she was careful to make no sound.

"Shooter on the roof!"

"Move forward, move, move, move!"

"Medic! We need a medic over here!"

Above the roar of gamma gunshot and flames, Nadia could hear men and women screaming in pain; in panic, twisting into an awful cacophony that drowned out every other sound.

 _I want my mommy_ , Nadia cried in her head; over and over in a sort of mantra, as if by repetition she could somehow make her mother appear.

"You're hurting."

The voice startled Nadia, her heart pounding violently in her chest as she jumped in fear.

"It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you."

It was as if all other sound on the battlefield had ceased. All there was was the sound of his voice.

Nadia squinted to see him through the scant light. The owner of the voice was a young man, not too terribly much older than Nadia herself. His face was pale, his eyes a luminous green, glowing with what seemed to be their own light even in the darkness of the smoky night. He was clothed in a hooded white ankle-length cloak, draped loosely over thin arms and boney shoulders. His hair that poked from under the hood was soft and wavy, a ruddy brown. His hand was slender, the fingers outstretched towards Nadia delicate. Where the cloak's sleeve ended at the boy's elbow, sprawling marks of interlocking circles entwined the boy's forearms, dark tattoos against his snow white skin.

"Come with me, child," the boy spoke, his placid statuesque face conveying only goodwill as his ruby red lips curled up in the slightest of smiles.

Nadia palmed her eyes, smudging tears across her cheeks. Obediently, she took the older boy's hand. It was cool in hers, his slender fingers engulfing her tiny ones.

They walked.

To Nadia, it was if time slowed down. The flicker of flames, the glow of guns, the billows of smoke, everything they passed slowed to a halt. Nadia stumbled once, but the boy's grip was firm and steady, even as they picked through debris, past soldiers hiding behind walls and barriers, through the thickest of gunfire. Even so, Nadia and her new friend walked on unscathed.

Nadia recognized the road they were taking; passed the doctor's shack, through the market. This was the road home.

Nadia remembered that morning, when the first shots fired, running through the market when she lost her family. For a second a flicker of hope shot through her; they could still be around, they could be home hiding, waiting for her. But as the boy continued into the market, he took a sharp turn away from the road, away from her home.

In this side alley, it took Nadia a few seconds to process the scene. The alleyway seemed to be filled with trash bags, lumps of them littering the passage. But as the boy gently pulled Nadia into his arms, she realize that the shapes weren't trash, they were bodies.

A few feet away, Nadia's mother lay wide eyed and broken.

"No!" Nadia, screamed, pushing the boy away, but his grip was firm. Giving up, Nadia clutched his robe, crying into his chest.

"Shh child," the boy whispered, ruffling her hair.

Impossibly gently, the boy disentangled himself from Nadia. The small girl sunk to the ground like a rag doll, infantine shoulders weighed down with grief.

A golden glow caught her eye.

Turning around Nadia saw the ghost of a boy hunched over her mother, hand's raised over the body. They _glowed,_ shimmering with a brilliant green-gold light, casting deep shadows on the boy's face so that he looked like a funerary statue of a pale angel.

Suddenly, with a jerk, Nadia's mother sat up, gasping for breath as one who had almost drowned.

"Mama!" Nadia called as the pale boy moved on to the next corpse.

"Nadia!" The girl's mother called, arms outstretched.

Nadia ran to her and, folded in her arms, thanked and thanked her mom for coming back to her, thanked the boy for bringing her back.

This time, when Nadia cried, her tears were tears of joy.

Even from outside of the command deck, Scribe Martin could hear the engines of the Prydwen, a constant drone that every member of the Brotherhood of Steel had come to know.

Martin mopped sweat from his forehead with the back of a gloved hand, bangs plastered to his forehead, as he awaited his meeting with Elder Viktor. He had come straight from the battlefield as soon as the fighting was done.

As soon as the call to retreat was given.

"Come in, boy," an old, gruff voice called from within the chamber.

Within stood the commander of the Brotherhood, a man well into his fifties, tall and built like a yao guai, all muscle and armor; his weathered skin lined with wrinkles. He stood bent over a large map of the commonwealth, pins with small plastic flags dotting the landscape, denoting territories of the Commonwealth: little green flags for the Children of Atom, red for the Communists, black for the Outcasts, grey for the Brotherhood.

"Report from the front lines, sir!" Martin said saluting.

"Give it to me, initiate," Elder Viktor said, a tired look passing momentarily over his stone face, his steely grey eyes passing over Scribe Martin for a heartbeat before returning to the map.

"Yes sir! The Children of Atom hold Taffington, sir! The battle was hard on the men, sir! Knight Desmond called the retreat, and is camped at Outpost Zimonja, sir!" Martin reported.

Elder Victor looked up again, locking eyes with the scribe. "How many did we lose?"

"Half of Harold Company, sir," Martin said sullenly. "About a hundred men, sir."

Elder Victor nodded. "Anything else, son?"

"No sir. Only strange reports from the line sir, nothing you should be concerned about, sir—"

"Out with it boy," Elder Viktor commanded.

Martin gave a curt nod. "Yes sir. Several men report to have been, well, saved, uh, during the battle sir."

"Saved? Elaborate."

"Well sir," Martin began, "they say they were dead sir, or they were, until this boy healed them. The Children call him an avatar sir, the 'Avatar of Atom' if rumors are to be believed, and he's no more than eighteen sir. The townsfolk are rallying around him sir."

"A magical boy?" The Elder laughed. "It was bad enough when we started losing settlements' allegiances to the Outcasts, but now we have to worry about some fairy boy with magic medicine?" The Elder ran his hand through his grey hair. "You are dismissed Scribe. Get yourself some food and clean yourself up. You've earned that much."

"Yes sir," Martin barked. He turned to leave.

"And Martin? Don't tell anyone else about this _Avatar_. We don't know what we're dealing with yet and we don't need to start anything." Martin saluted before turning out the door.

"Avatar," the Elder muttered to himself when Martin had gone. "Let's see how this boy handles full scale war."

"He'll be dead by summer's end."

 **XxXxX**

 **Alright! Official end of the intro; starting next chapter I will be introducing OCs submitted by you, my lovely readers! SYOC IS STILL OPEN and I am in great need of characters, so please, if you could suggest this story to anyone interested, I'd greatly appreciate it! I love this story's concept, but unfortunately I will be unable to continue if I don't receive any OCs. Anywho, if you liked this "chapter", please review, and until then, thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 1: Book of Machines

"More reinforcement on that wall!" Protector Erickson barked.

Several soldiers grunted in response, dragging sand bags and scrap sheets of rusted metal to stack at a makeshift wall.

It had taken the Outcasts only two days to construct a barrier around the old Finch Farmhouse. The land was crowded, strewn with pre-war transport vehicles loaded with weapons and provisions, tents sheltering makeshift shelters, and even several stolen vertibirds.

The farmhouse itself had been converted into a field hospital, and boy did they need it. After suffering defeat at the hands of the Inquisition of Atom miles outside of Taffington, followed by the harrowing loss of the fortified compound at County Crossing by the Communist Commonwealth Army, the Outcasts had been left with a staggering number of casualties, even despite new recruits arriving each day.

Hugh Walker had been one of these recruits, a regimental mechanic from the D.C. chapter of Outcasts sent to the Commonwealth to aid the war effort. Hugh had been around a hundred and thirty years, and figured he'd be around for at least a hundred more, but this conflict had been some of the worst the ghoul had ever seen.

Wiping sweat from his withered brow, Hugh got back to work repairing the engine of a damaged military transport vehicle. He hadn't been part of the battles at County Crossing or outside Taffington, as much as he wanted to be. Hugh instead had been here, at Finch, building and repairing because the company at Finch had been short on knowledgeable mechanics since they took the settlement early in the war from the Brotherhood. He'd watched as squads of men, broken and battered, staggered and limped into camp.

It had been Protector Erickson who insisted on fortifying the property, his first intelligent command since his promotion (the last Protector stationed at Finch had died of dysentery nearly a month ago, causing a plague scare that some of the recruits still whispered about at night). Hugh disliked the man; partly because he was green, and partly because he was stupid.

Everyone knew the raid on Taffington was a mistake before the troops had even left Finch; only a week before had the Children of Atom taken the town from the Brotherhood in a crushing blow, and the Children had fortified the town since. And while Hugh was always game to bash some racist ghoul-hating, self-righteous douchebags, even he could tell that Protector Erickson was vastly underestimating the power of the Inquisition.

Hugh had faced off with plenty of the fanatical cultists before, in D.C. and elsewhere, but usually those were small congregations of rad-addled crazies. No, the Inquisitors weren't daft. They struck with precision, calculating every move, probing for every weakness. And now they had a goddamn following.

"You're doin' that wrong," Hugh said.

Protector Erickson had assigned Hugh an Initiate to help with the repairs. Boy couldn't have been older than sixteen, but when he'd been assigned to Hugh, he'd said he'd been fixing radiators and the like on his family farm all his life.

Well, a radiator was different than an armed vehicle by a longshot.

"Sorry Specialist Walker, uh, sir–" the boy stammered (he had told Hugh his name a while ago, but the old ghoul hadn't bothered to learn it).

Hugh took the wrench from the Initiate's hand and ducked under the hood of the vehicle.

"Goddamn. Well, it's gonna take more than a few hours to fix this mess up," Hugh grunted, scratching his full black beard. "Tell ya what; lets grab some grub and get back to this one later."

The Initiate nodded and hopped from the vehicle to the ground. Hugh had never seen someone move so fast as that boy when it was food time.

The ghoul sighed, swinging himself down from the vehicle.

When Hugh walked through the camp, everyone moved out of his way. Maybe it was the way he walked, wide-stanced, purposeful, or maybe it was just the mean ghoulishness of his once handsome face. No matter the cause, the Specialist didn't seem to mind.

As Hugh neared the mess tent, he heard a loud call, louder than the rough housing and caterwauling of the men, and clearer too. Hugh turned to look at the source of the sound. Near the shoreline that bordered the Finch property stood a group of men, circled around a central figure.

"Jesus", Hugh muttered shaking his head.

In the center of the circle stood a woman in tattered dark green robes, perched on a makeshift stage of potato crates. _Sister Elaine._ The missionary had been a part of the negotiations with the Children of Atom for safe retreat. In return for their unmolested retreat after the battle of Taffington, and for the safety of any prisoners the Inquisition had taken, the Children had sent a missionary with the company back to Finch Farms.

"Within every person is unlimited potential, many universes unlocked inside of each living thing!" Sister Elaine said, almost in a sing song voice. Hugh hated it. "You are all cherished in the eyes of Atom; everyone equal in his most holy sight!"

The sad part was that she actually was starting to have a following here at Finch; Hugh had noticed more than a few poor souls gathering around her every day at sunset to here her blabber.

Hugh rubbed his bald head. He'd never be convinced by the Children's rhetoric, and the Children of Atom would probably never have him. More than a few of those zealots believed that ghouls were Atom's rejects.

With a sigh, Hugh meandered into the mess hall, letting the din of soldiers' camaraderie wash over him. _This_ was Hugh's religion, his fellow soldiers the congregation, the battlefield his place of worship. Well, if Protector Erickson ever let him back on the battlefield again.

 _And speak of the devil,_ Hugh thought as he saw the Protector walk to the center of the mess tent, accompanied by a few of the other company commanders.

"Alright, listen up!" One of the commanders yelled, silencing the mess tent in a heartbeat.

"Within the hour, Bastion and Fortress Companies will be moving out to reinforce our holding at Coastal Cottage before they march on the Slog, currently held by the Inquisition. Report to your company commanders and pack your bags; you'll be traveling through the night."

Hugh stared at the Protector with a look of mild shock. He was a member of Bastion company; he'd finally be moving out and joining the fray after all.

It had taken less than an hour for Bastion Company to get packed up and out of camp, and in another hour the convoy of Outcast vertibirds would be arriving at Coastal Cottage.

Hugh had travelled by vertibird before, but the Outcasts only tended to use them in absolute emergencies; for the day-to-day commutes they used the old transport vehicles. Whatever was happening at the Slog had to be big.

Manning the large mounted machine gun on the empty forward bay of the aircraft, Hugh scanned the Commonwealth for any signs of trouble, though to be honest, that was a rarity these days. The entire landscape glowed with unchecked fires, artillery strikes, open battles and skirmishes. Faction against faction against faction; at this rate the killing was indiscriminate, as long as you weren't killing your own men or the poor civillians stuck in this goddamn war. Though Hugh figured at least a few factions would gun those poor bastards down too.

From here, the mechanic could see the Slog; he'd been there a few decades ago, before the war. It'd been a good place once, a haven for people like him, for ghouls.

Now it was the site of carnage.

Even from here, Hugh could see the fight; Outcasts stuck in trenches and behind barriers surrounding the main Slog complex, and all around them, swarming in from the woods and up the hill from the river on the north side, came the Inquisition's forces: hundreds of robbed and armored Children of Atom, glowing gamma guns or long-barreled radium rifles raised and firing into the ranks of Outcast defenders.

"Hold your fire," Hugh's vertibird pilot commanded over his headset. The ghoul swore; the bots down there needed help.

"Soon enough," the pilot said, as if reading Hugh's mind.

From the Slog, it had only taken a few minutes to reach Coastal Cottage. Already the Outcast companies stationed here were ready to pull out. From his vertibird, Hugh and his squad were loaded onto a military transport in a massive convoy bound for the Slog.

At least the Outcasts had the technological advantage in this fight, for all it was worth. So far, the Children of Atom possessed no artillery or air force, but that didn't mean they posed no threat. What they lacked in tech, Hugh had come to realize, they made up for in fanaticism, in determination. In their will to win. And what was worse?

They weren't afraid to die.

"We're almost at the drop site!" Hugh's squad commander, one Specialist Jones, shouted over the rumble of the tank. "We'll be reinforcing from the woods south of the main complex! We're expecting heavy resistance, so get your asses out the door fast, gun at the ready! Understood?"

A chorus of "yes sir's" was his reply.

Hugh gripped his laser rifle, checking the optics and action for any imperfection. While the mechanic could fix or build just about anything, he _loved_ guns.

"On my mark!" The squad commander ordered as the transport came to a halt.

The back door lowered.

"Go, go, go!"

Hugh rushed out the behind one of the younger soldiers. The boy was shot immediately, hot blood splattering Hugh's red and black combat armor, stinging his eyes, but he had enough sense to duck in cover before the next round of shots whizzed overhead.

"Ambush!" Someone in his squad called; Hugh couldn't have said who.

Something landed next to Hugh's thigh.

"Grenade!" The ghoul called, jumping up in a heartbeat.

The blast of the explosive launched the mechanic a few feet to fall, hands and knees, onto the hard forest floor.

Grabbing his gun, Hugh scanned the foliage for the enemy, and caught sight of a swish of green robe up ahead, crouched behind a large stump.

Crawling behind a cluster of tree trunks, Hugh took aim with his laser rifle, and fired, missing my about a foot.

"Dammit," the ghoul swore. "Need to spend more time on the firin' range."

Thwack, thwack, thwack; rad-laced bullets struck Hugh's meager cover. At least the Zealot up ahead had similarly bad aim or Hugh figured he'd likely be dead by now.

Ducking from behind his cover again, Hugh fired and again, and again, and finally was rewarded by the scream of his enemy as the Child of Atom fell clutching his gut.

"Forward positions!" Hugh heard Specialist Jones command over his helmet's headset.

Hugh and his team crawled through the woods, facing no resistance, as they crept closer to their target.

The Slog was just barely visible through the trees, a small square building fenced in with scrap wood and chainlink fences.

As the squad fled the cover of the trees, they darted towards the slight fortifications to aid their comrades.

Hugh hopped over the low wood fence to land next to a frightened looking initiate clutching a laser rifle. He looked shell shocked, helmet slipping off the side of his head, eyes wide in horror.

"Keep a lookout for more of them rad bastards; we think we cleared 'em from this side, but we better be safe 'n sorry," Hugh commanded, patting the boy on the shoulder, who jumped so hard you'd have thought Hugh shot him.

"Y-yes sir," the initiate stammered.

"Specialist Walker!" Hugh's commander called him. "This way!"

Hugh joined his squad in the Slog building. All around, wounded and dying soldiers lay on makeshift cots, attended by only a handful of frantic medics. A table stood in the center of the room, covered in papers, maps marking troop movements, a few communications radios to maintain contact with the soldiers on the front.

"We're moving Bastion Company to the front immediately," a commander Hugh didn't know told Specialist Jones.

 _The front_ , Hugh thought. _Out of the frying pan and straight into the fire_.

 **XxXxX**

 **Alright everyone! Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter introducing our first submitted OC, Hugh Walker, as well as the Outcasts! Only one more faction to introduce, and quite a few more characters, but the SYOC is still OPEN!**


	5. Chapter 2: Book of Red Death

The air of Vault 88 was cold, clinical, smelling of cavernous minerals and surgical supplies. The people of Vault 88 were just as cold and clinical. The residents of the Vault Tec shelter wore red jumpsuits, referred to each other as "comrade", and swore near blind devotion to their Communist regime.

Lt. Yosef Ivanov understood the necessity of this devotion; without trust in the powers that be, all of the progress Vault 88 had made, all of the order, the peace, would be ruined. Peace. Now that was a foreign word these days.

Lt. Ivanov remembered when that very word had been used to rally the Communists in a war for the Commonwealth, when the Grand Secretary, the leader of their government, had announced that the only way to spread the ideals of Vault 88 was to subdue the unruly masses of the Commonwealth.

The first group the Communists had targeted was the Minutemen. The free-market group had been no match for the Party's prewar Soviet weaponry and tech. With holds in Lexington and Sanctuary, the Communists had marched on these Minutemen strongholds, claiming them in a red tide.

Now the Party waged war from above ground, posessing several military bases in the Northwestern region of the Commonwealth.

Lt. Ivanov had been a part of several of those first battles, but after being wounded during the battle for Sunshine Tidings, a Children of Atom fortification, the young officer had been transported back to the Vault for advanced medical attention thanks to the rad heavy weaponry of the Inquisition.

Now Ivanov worked in the war room in the Vault while he waited for clearance to return to battle.

Lt. Ivanov didn't mind working in the war room. Paperwork aside, the job gave the veteran a good idea of the inner workings of warfare. Everyday, on a large holographic map in the center of the room, the Ministers of War and Defense met to discuss troop movements and supply lines with some of the high ranking generals of their Red Army.

Today's agenda would be different, or so Ivanov figured by the group of men that had been escorted into the war room only a few minutes before.

Dirty, clad in the rags that most Commonwealth denizens favored, the men were rugged indeed.

"Gentlemen," the Minister of Defense began. Ivanov could just hardly see him from where he sat at his government issued desk.

"We have called you here on important business of the utmost urgency." The Minister of Defense, an aging generation 2 synth by the name of Mao Li, and dressed in an old Chinese submariner officer's uniform, was one of the heads of the party, sharing power with the Ministers of Defense and Media. They were, in turn, loyal to the absolute leader of the party, the General Secretary.

"War grips every corner of the Commonwealth. No home has been left untouched by this horrible conflict," Minister Li began.

"Yeah, yeah, we get it, war sucks. I'm sure you didn't call us here just to lecture us on war," one of the dirty men said.

"No, Mr. Plant, we did not," Minister Li said, artificial yellow eyes glowering. "No indeed. We require your services. As you can see, our Red Army is a well oiled machine. Every hand is busy at work, and sometimes that means we have over-extended ourselves."

"As it stands, many of our special operations forces are occupied with confidential tasks integral to our success in this war. This leaves us in a precarious situation. We require the deaths of several individuals; key members in the efforts of our enemies. In a moment, you will be given a list of the names of those we require eliminated."

"Now I warn you, this list includes several people you may perceive as innocent, a young boy and several women, to name a few. These people are not innocent, and their death's may well bring peace to the Commonwealth at last."

"I doubt you care about such notions as peace though," Minister Li laughed, mostly to himself. "No, you care about currency. For your efforts, each of you will be paid handsomely. Do we have a deal?"

The gruff men shared a look dripping in avarice.

"How's about a downpayment, and then we'll get to work on your little list," one of the men, the one named "Plant" said.

"Of course. If you will follow me this way, I believe we can come to an agreement."

So the Ministers were planning mass assassination? Ivanov supposed it was for the best, if that was the plan, but the implications were grave, if that be the case. What could have the Ministers so scared that assassination was the answer?

"Lt. Ivanov." Ivanov looked up from the field report on his desk to see one of the younger secretaries, a woman in the black Soviet fatigues of the army, standing attentively at the front of his desk.

"Comrade?" Ivanov replied.

"You are wanted in Minister Li's office, sir."

Ivanov nodded, gathering his paperwork and black officer's hat, setting it atop his blonde hair, and brusquely navigated the war room to the Defense Minister's office across the hall.

Opening the door, Ivanov found the Minister shaking hands with the last of the dirty assassins.

"Ah, Lt. Ivanov. How good it is to see you," Minister Li said.

"Comrade," Ivanov said, nodding in respect to his superior.

"I have a job for you, comrade. I wish for you to accompany our new friends; make sure they find their travels amenable, and make sure they know which army they are fighting for," Minister Li said, not even attempting to veil the threat.

"Yes Comrade. We'll be packed and out within the hour sir."

"Very good," Li said, sitting behind his desk. "Very good indeed. Best of luck to you all. The fate of the Commonwealth rests in your hands."

XxXxX

Hello all! Another chapter in the bag! In this chapter we have been introduced to the Communists and OC Timothy Plant! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and if you have any critique or suggestions, please leave a review! SYOC is still OPEN, although both slots for Outcasts and Nuetral settlers have been filled!


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